Cruella's Patented Pick-Up Lines
by The Magpie Igraine
Summary: Reeling from a breakup and arrested for drunk driving, Cruella asks Emma and Hook for dating advice…namely pick-up lines. Hook/Emma with Cruella D' Hook friendship.
1. Part I: Coping

Cruella's Patented Pick-Up Lines (For Fairytale Folk And Other Amorous Creatures)

Reeling from a breakup and arrested for drunk driving, Cruella asks Emma and Killian for dating advice…namely pick-up lines. In this so-called story, Cruella is barely a villain, she's had some kind of affair with Rumple, and she isn't dead. This is just a goofy one-shot. Read/review if you feel like it. Hook/Emma. Cruella D'Hook friendship.

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"Goddamn stupid Rumple…idiotic little imp…Don't know why I bother…" Cruella muttered, bringing the bottle to her lips. The scenery around her was a tree-lined blur as she raced along the dark seaside highway.

She took a swig of Jack Daniels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while trying to keep her car on the right side of the road. Or the left side. Who the hell cared which side since this backwards realm was in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and who gave two shits about what side of the road was "safe" or "correct" or "legal"?

An icy wind whistled through the open window. The night air was bracing, but it couldn't compare to the sweet sting of aged bourbon.

"Rumple Dear…Rumple Mean…My sweetest dream…So very fair…" she hummed. "I swear, that man could drive Jesus to drink." She took another swig and gave a satisfied grunt as the liquid burned its way down her throat. "Rumple…bright, beautiful, completely untouched by any sense of self awareness. Or shame. Or sanity. Hair like copper, eyes like amber, glittering skin you could to sink your teeth into…A god, an angel. An angel who needs a bullet to the brain and some time in a cage with an angry raccoon."

She'd had enough of that idiotic Rumple. After a hundred fights and a hundred broken dates and a hundred broken hearts, she'd finally had enough. She learned her lesson: no more good-looking, homicidal warlocks. Every time she got her head turned by that flashing grin and that glossy hair and his megalomaniacal swagger, she was a goner. Her brain shut down (or at least the part of her brain that usually worked). But No More. Now she'd have a relationship with alcohol. Alcohol and booze and gin nothing else.

So far, she was enjoying her newfound love affair.

"I'll drink to that. Here's to you, booze," she muttered. Toasting the night sky, she took a long swig. Licking her lips, grinning like an idiot, she went on: "And here's to you, Kentucky bourbon. You'll never break my heart. My liver, maybe, but never my heart…"

She toasted the stars, the moon, the squeaky windshield wipers, the rotten road signs warning her about sharp turns ahead. Towering above her, black cliffs of the Eastern Drop ascended into the dark sky. Knife-like ridges caught the moonlight, their rocky faces cutting downward into the crashing waves of the Atlantic. They looked like the jagged edges of keys…and where were her keys…and her purse…and her shoe? Why was she only wearing one shoe?

"Figures I'd lose a shoe. Cinderella got it wrong… If you're at a party and you lose a shoe at midnight, it just means you're drunk. Drunk. Drunk. Drunk. Drunkerella. And when they find it, it won't be made of glass. It'll probably be covered in vomit and condoms."

Funny, her whole world crumbling and being worried about her shoes... Better than a shotgun barrel in her mouth, but it made just as much sense. Her old Rolls revved and screeched its protest along the curving cliffside road.

The cliffs fell in a sharp line straight into the Atlantic, as if the rocks themselves had a death wish. In the distance the massive sea stacks shot up like black fountains out of the freezing water. The ocean breeze rattled the ancient windshield wipers, interrupting the rhythmic beat of the waves against the craggy rocks below. Veiled moonlight shined above; but it wasn't much. She might as well have been tunneling to the center of the earth for all the light the night sky gave her.

"Goodbye Rumple…hope you're happy with that bag of VD Belle…you'll come crawling back when you find out she can't spell your name. Or finish a simple declarative sentence." She raised the bottle to her lips and knocked back the rest of it. She tossed the empty bottle out the window with a grunt. A lurching wave swallowed it before it could shatter on the rocks below.

"May God strike me down if I fall for that warlock again. The road to hell is lined with dazzling men who try to kill you…So kill them first. Leave no witnesses. That's my new motto."

She was so resolute and determined to live life to the fullest that she missed the curve in the road and careened straight into the Storybrooke sign. For a moment her world was a blur of screeching brakes and spinning headlights. A tearing noise filled the air as the sign toppled forward and crashed onto the hood of her car.

 _Welcome to Storybrooke,_ the white and green letters shone through the smoke curling over the flickering headlights. Underneath it, someone had scribbled _…weird as shit…_

"I'll drink to that," she mumbled, just before she lost consciousness.

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 _Bang… bang…bang_

A hollow metallic sound thundered against his skull and shook him out of a pleasant dream about a deserted island and an amorous Savior. Killian opened his eyes, blinking against the relentlessly cheerful sunrise streaming into the bedroom of his apartment.

 _Bang…bang…bang…_

"Go away," he muttered. Ducking under the covers, Killian drew a pillow around his head. If he could, he would've wadded it in his ears to keep the relentless pounding to a dull roar. As it was, it only muffled the sound of the metallic hammering. Softer, yes. But still there, knocking against his half-asleep senses.

He was faced with a choice: he could either suffocate himself with the pillow or wake up and answer the door. He thought about it long and hard and finally tossed the pillow aside.

He sat up, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The pounding continued. Someone was banging on the door to his apartment. Someone with a death-wish. The sound of pounding, banging and general noise cut through the quiet of the morning with no end in sight. He wondered if the knocking would ever stop. Maybe he'd hear it forever. Like the poor tosser from "A Tell-Tale Heart"…

"Tis the beating of that hideous door," he muttered, staggering toward the bathroom. Staring into the cracked mirror, he made a face and splashed water over himself. Through the water dripping from his forehead, he saw a familiar sight: green eyes, black hair, chiseled features. He ran a pair of wet hands through his hair. Nothing short of dark magic could keep the spiky ends from sticking straight up. He'd tried everything from mousse to hairspray to gel that looked like day-glow paint…the only thing that worked was holding his head under a facet until his hair surrendered or at least played dead.

He pulled on some pants and tugged a shirt over his bare chest (still wide and broad and nearly as impressive as it was in his swashbuckling days). The four years he'd spent in Storybrooke refurbishing sailboats hadn't stopped him from taking care of his athletic frame.

He swung open the door, ready to glare down the suicidal idiot who'd come calling at sunrise. And then, suddenly, he was grinning like an idiot. It always happened when she appeared on his doorstep.

"Hello Lovely." He smiled, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I didn't know it was you. If I had, I would've left my clothes on the floor."

"Is that an invitation for sex?" Emma sighed and rubbed her head. "Because it's terrible."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You're tempted though, right?"

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. "Later Tiger. I have some bad news."

"The not-having-sex isn't the bad news?"

"I picked up Cruella late last night."

He nodded. "Ah. I see." He slipped on some shoes and shrugged on a jacket. "What did she do this time? Set a few trashcan fires? Paint a self-portrait on the clock tower? Fill the park fountain with moonshine?

"Nope. She was driving under the influence."

"Driving under the influence? Lovely, she _lives_ under the influence. You just happened to catch her in her car."

"Right. And while she was doing that, she ran said car into the town sign."

"Ouch. How's the car?"

"I don't know…and honestly, I don't care… but she's been asking for you for a few hours now. At least I think she's asking for you. I can't understand her what with the crazy accent and the slurring and the sobbing."

"Her accent _is_ tricky…Besides, I'm always ready to help you hero-types. Specially one as attractive as you." He brushed her lips against hers before locking the door behind him.

" Awww. I bet you say that to all the sheriffs." She tugged on his hand as she led him down the hallway towards the back door.

"I do actually. David will usually buy me a drink or two…" he blocked her punch and they trotted towards the sheriff station, their laughter ringing through the quiet streets.

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"Darling…oh…Killian," Cruella curled against him, wiping tears from her eyes and trying to steal his flask when she thought he wasn't looking. "I want him dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead as a door-nail. Deaderella."

Killian patted her black and white shock of hair. "I know Sweets. We all do." They were sitting on a cot in the jail cell. The doors were wide open, but Emma knew that Cruella was much too comfortable to make any kind of escape attempt. Killian had that effect on her. Somehow he could get through the homicidal rage to the less-homicidal-yet-still-severely-sociopathic girl inside. It was sweet. Kind of.

"Going back to Rumple... God." Cruella rolled her eyes. "What was I thinking? Of course he'd never leave Belle. Even though she's got the IQ of a bag of cocks. He'll never get a divorce. I know that. I knew that from the start."

He stared at her. "An IQ of...you mean chickens?"

She ignored him. "I found them together…did you know that? I went over to his place, ready to cook a lovely veal dinner and listen to Cole Porter and dance and drink until sunrise. And there they were. Snuggling. By the fireplace. Like two baby kittens. Uggh…just the thought of it makes me want to vomit until I die…ooohhhhh!" She exclaimed. "Let's play the game. Please darling. Please please please please please…Let's play. Right now."

Killian lowered his voice. "No Sweets, I don't think Emma wants us to."

"Pleeeeasssse. Just one round. I won't ask again. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Or at least get thrown off a cliff and survive." She eyed Emma pointedly, knowing references to her near-death made the Savior uncomfortable.

"Fine." Killian sighed and began. "A…Attacked by wild dogs and thrown in a vat of Acid."

Cruella grinned and replied, "B…Bound and gagged and thrown off a Bridge."

"C…Carved up and Compacted in a trash bin."

"D…Dragged and Drugged and left for daws to peck at."

"E…Executed by way of Electricity."

"F…Flogged and then Flattened with a steamroller"

"Listing ways to kill Rumple again?" Emma asked tiredly. "I'm glad you two are having fun." She handed Killian a bottle of water. He opened the cap and handed it to Cruella who took a small sip and promptly made a face.

"Uh…If I'm going to drink out of a bottle, I'd like the contents to be a little more potent than that."

Emma shook her head. "You've had enough alcohol to last you a week. Or to kill a small elephant. Take your pick."

She pouted. "It's Rumple's fault! Stupid sexy Rumple. I hate him…honestly…I hate him." She turned to Killian. "Let's just murder him darling. Just you and me. We'll make a date of it. We'll have dinner…Tapas maybe…and then drinkies. And then we'll fill his heart with dreamshade and bury him under the old toll bridge. Who do you think?"

Killian shrugged. "Sounds like a plan. I'm in."

"No you're not," Emma called from her desk. "You are definitely not 'in'."

"Nooo….She's right darling. I _don't_ want to kill him." An evil glint flashed in her eyes. "No…I want him alive. I want him to live, because one day I'm going to meet a man. A gorgeous Greek god of a man and I'm going to marry him and parade him in front of Rumple like a Goddamn show pony."

"Huh. Yes. Greek god pony…sounds about right." He shoved her hand away from his flask. He was going to sober her up if it killed her.

"You see, I _have_ to meet someone. Someone handsome. And young. Someone who has a vitality for life that I just lack. Someone with spirit. And money. Lots of money. And no next-of-kin. So no one will miss him if he just disappears one afternoon."

Emma stepped into cell, handing Cruella a few tablets of aspirin. She eyed them uncertainly. "Who's going to disappear exactly?"

"Oh Emma…You have no idea how lucky you are to have a man like Killian. Honestly darling, with that scruff and spiky hair, he looks good enough to eat." She made munching sounds and tickled his chin. "I just can't stand how handsome he is. He has a quality that makes a girl's fur positively _crackle_ , if you know what I mean."

"Thank you Sweets." He sent her a wink and a grin. "I'm well aware of that."

Cruella nodded and pulled out some folded paper from her pocket. "And now that Rumple's out of the picture, I have a pretty good idea of what I'm after in a man. I made a list…see…of traits I'll be looking for from now on. To be fair, I was awfully drunk at the time, and I may have been bleeding internally as well." She handed the pages to Killian.

"Not Rumple…Not Rumple…Not Rumple…Not Rumple… " He turned the pages over in his hand. "This is just three pages full of you scribbling _Not Rumple_ over and over again."

"Right. So there's that. He can't be Rumple. I got that far."

Emma smile encouragingly. "That's a good start."

"Wait what's this here? On the back?" He turned to the last page, skimming the swirls of handwriting.

"Oh, I was practicing my pick-up lines. For when I meet this Greek-God-show-pony-not-Rumple type man. I want to be ready, and I can't count on him to make the first move."

Killian read the first few lines and threw his head back, laughing.

"What's so funny?" Cruella asked, snatching the pages back and looking hurt. "I thought they were clever."

Emma leaned against the doorway. "I think I want to hear this."

He shook his head, stifling his laughter. "No…no you don't."

Cruella clapped and smiled. "Oh, yes! What a wonderful idea. I'll read them out and you two can tell me how effective they'll be. I'd like a man's point-of- view and the Savior's. She's got to be useful somehow, hasn't she?" Cruella cleared her throat as Emma drew up a chair.

-"Hello darling," Cruella read clearly. "Are you the king of hearts, because I think you've captured mine?"

"Oh, that's sweet. I like that one." Emma smiled.

He shrugged. "It'd be decent enough if we were back in Wonderland."

-"Feel my coat… know what it's made of? Girlfriend material. And puppies. Mostly puppies."

Emma stared at her. "Wait…what?"

Killian shook his head. "Nope. Next."

-"Hello darling…I killed my parents, but I'd kill them all over again if you asked me to."

"That's better," he nodded.

"No it isn't," Emma said sharply.

-"Come a little closer. I'll tear out your heart but I'll treasure it forever."

He smiled. "You know, I think that's what Regina said to Robin Hood the first time they met."

Emma bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Yes. It's sweet, I guess…"

-"Are we in a rabbit hole, because I'm falling for you?"

-"I must be an ogre, because you look good enough to eat."

-"If I kiss you…will you turn into a prince?—This one only works if they're wearing green. A lot of green."

-"Is it hot in here, or is it just you? Or maybe it's my coat. It's made out of puppies."

-"If you were a poison apple, I'd still pick you first."

-"Now I know why I murdered all my husbands, because I never met you."

-"Did you grow-up in a cottage made of candy, because you're incredibly sweet?"

-"Do you have an enchanted mirror in your pocket...I can't think of an ending to that one…"

-"Magic isn't the only thing coming in Storybrooke…"

"That one's the best so far. Use that one," Killian said before Emma swatted him.

-"On a scale of one to Regina's dungeon, how free are you tonight?"

-"Darling, you bring out the animal in me, because I want to skin myself and make a coat. Out of the skin. That I cut off from myself…That one needs work."

-"Even if I were an ogre, I'd still chews you…that one only works on paper."

-"We're like the second star to the right, because we're going straight on til morning."

She looked up at the two of them. "And that's all I have so far. Any thoughts?"

"They're…very…direct…" Emma struggled to find the words. "Um…Killian what do you think?"

Cruella turned to him. "Yes darling, tell me everything. I mean…what lines do _you_ use when you want to go about attracting a mate? Are they all pirate-themed? Do they have a lot of puns about "big decks" and "getting hooked"?

He shrugged. "I just say _hello_. Usually that works. I mean…look at me." He gestured to himself. "What else needs to be said?"

"Good point," Cruella nodded, eyeing him over. "You are tall, dark and delicious. Makes one absolutely sick to think that all that yumminess is wasted on the Savior…oh…sorry Emma. Forgot you were sitting there. You should wear a bell."

"I'm sitting down, how would a bell help?" Emma asked uncertainly, watching Cruella's face twist into a seething rage.

"Belle…Belle…stupid awful awful Belle. She'll pay. They'll _all_ pay..." she muttered over and over again. Shaking herself out of her temporary trance, she gave a sweet smile and stood up. "Well, I'd better get going. I have the most awful urge for coffee and I have to change out these clothes. I'm beginning to smell like one of the Merry Men. Ta darling." She kissed Killian's cheek and gave him a quick hug.

"Bye Emma. Keep this one happy." She motioned to Killian. "Believe me, it's cold out there for a single girl."

"She looks happier," he said, watching her leave. "I don't know how long that will last."

"Well…um…I should probably bring her back. She's under arrest…" Emma replied.

He waved it away. "She'll be back in here before the day's out. She'll probably try to set Rumple on fire or drive her car through his front porch."

"Ah…see…since I'm a sheriff, my job is to stop that."

"Oh, right. Good thinking. We'd better get a move on then."

"Why?"

Killian patted himself down. "Because she stole my flask. And whenever she gets ahold of flammable liquids, they usually end up soaked in rags, lit on fire, and tossed into Gold's storefront."

"Good point." Emma grabbed her cellphone and shrugged on her jacket. "You know, I'm really glad we're not out there."

"You mean outside? Where Cruella and Rumple are probably trying to destroy each other. Yeah. Me too."

"No...I mean out there, in the singles scene." She wrapped an arm around his waist as they headed towards the door. "I don't think I could handle the dating pool around here again."

"Lucky for you, you won't have to." He smiled and kissed her cheek.

Emma grinned. It was going to be glorious day in Storybrooke. Love was in the air. And smoke. And screaming. And fire. Yes…it was just another day in the land of happily-ever-afters.

The End.


	2. Part II: Drunk Date Texts

Cruella's Drunk Date Texts

After breaking up with Rumple, Cruella expresses her misery in a few diary entries and text messages, revealing her heartfelt search for a soul mate. Sort of. Not really. It's a stupid drabble. And very nearly a follow-up to "Cruella's Patented Pick-Up Lines." Emma/Hook (barely) Cruella D'Hook friendship.

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 _May 15_ _th_

 _Weight:_ _110_

 _Cigarettes_ _: 20+_

 _Men in life_ _: **Rumple** (Very Bad because I hate him)/ **Killian** (Very Good but has a girlfriend and still won't fuck me) _

_Friends_ _: Several but I hate most of them_

 _Drinks_ _: 4+ a day, but I don't count anything after 5 p.m. though because that's God's way of rewarding us for getting through the day without murdering the idiots around us._

Dear Diary,

I'm not going to lie. The week started off badly. Very. Badly. Last night I saw Rumple in a bar with his hideous wife and after that everything's a blur. The one thing I _do_ remember is changing all my phone contacts to stupid nicknames. Now, I have NO idea who's who in my phone. And of course I don't want to call any of them because God knows what else I did last night…

So let's play a game. A matching game. Here are the nicknames I can't figure out and next to them are my best guesses about who they refer to…

 **Slab Beefchest** (Charming? Snow?)

 **Twofer** (two-for-one…that has to be August)

 **Turds McGee** (Rumple or Charming?)

 **Bitchface 1** (Regina/Mal/Emma?)

 **Bitchface 2** (Regina/Mal/Emma?)

 **Bitchface 3** (Regina/Mal/Emma?)

 **The Fisherman's Wife** (Ursula?)

 **Captain Fuckable** (Duh)

 **Lesbian-After-Two-Drinks** (Regina/Mal/Ruby/?)

 **Dead-to-me** (Belle or Rumple?)

 **Pongo** (Belle or Ruby?)

 **Gave-Rumple-Crabs** (Belle or Mal?)

I'll have to sit down and think about this Very Seriously and remind myself never to play with my phone after six or seven martinis. Next time I'll just download Angry Birds. Or Fisherman's Wife porno. Either one has to be a better use of my time.

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May 18th

 _Weight_ _: 111_

 _Cigarettes_ _: 10+_

 _Men in life_ _:_ _ **Rumple**_ _(I will murder this man…I swear to God)/_ _ **Killian**_ _(Swear to God...still won't fuck me)_

 _Friends_ _: Several but still hate them all_

 _Drinks_ _: 3+ a day…no longer counting clear liquids because it's all 90% water anyway._

Dear Diary,

I think it's clear I made some Very Bad choices last night. I remember some pieces, some snips and snippets here and there, but by and large the whole night is a blur. The last thing I **truly** remember is standing in front of Rumple's house and slowly striking a match against my heel, breathing in the delicious scent of sulfur and gasoline.

That right there is a Bad Sign.

(Have you ever noticed that fire is one of God's greatest aromas…it smells like victory and vengeance. It smells the way vodka tastes. Like sex on a campfire. I wish someone would bottle it. I'd douse myself with it every morning in the shower)

Anyway, I remember tossing a lit match on the ground. Then tossing another. And another. And another. Soon the ground was littered with piles of black little matches. The evil smell of smoke and sulfur filled the air as the fire took shape. I watched the flames lick the air, popping and hissing as the ground burned black beneath me.

"Stupid Rumple," I cursed the heavens, watching the flames grow higher. He constantly underestimates me. Stupid Rumple, stupid fire, stupid vodka…why is everything wonderful in life so incredibly bad for you? Stupid stupid awful Rumple…

Okay so maybe burning a message in Rumple' s front lawn wasn't the best way to handle our break-up. But, to be fair…I was Very Drunk. And Drunk-Logic dictated that burning a message on his front lawn was like sending a primitive text message. It's the original emoji.

 _(Go Home Drunk-Logic…You're Drunk)_

Anyway, Stupid Sheriff Emma shows up a few hours later and she _assumed_ I'd done it (just because I was sprawled on Rumple's front lawn with a gas can next to me and stained with ashes from head to toe). Stupid fucking cow. Can't imagine what Killian sees in her...

"I want Killian…want Hook," I said with a yawn, shrugging her off as she led me to the squad car.

"I'm not calling Killian." She rolled her eyes in an unattractive way. I fought the urge to tell her she looked like Homeless Barbie and maybe she should try conditioning her hair extensions once in while… but I didn't because even I'm hung-over, not suicidal. ( _A million points for self-restraint_ )

"Fine then," I said primly. "Then I want a lawyer. Killian can be my lawyer…"

"No."

"Captain Hook—Attorney at Law…I'd watch that show…I'd fucking _love_ to see that show…."

Emma shoved me inside a disgusting little squad car and made me wait fifteen minutes before bothering to take me down to the station.

"What's all the fuss, anyway?" I asked. "All someone did was send Rumple a little message."

"You burned six-foot letters across his front lawn."

"Who me?" I said meekly, positive I sounded completely innocent and impossibly honest.

"What was it supposed to say, anyway?" she asked, flipping a little notebook over. "All I got was BELLE HAS CRAPS. I don't know what that means."

"What?! Are you hero-types illiterate as well as dirty and poor…It says BELLE HAS CRABS….which…er…" (I'll admit I fumbled a bit there) "…Not that I have any idea what it really says because I had nothing to do with it because I don't know anything about it."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm just taking a stab in the dark," I explained. "You know…lucky guess. And the letters were awfully easy to read. Someone obviously spent a lot of time on it. You're probably looking for a professional."

"A professional criminal who burns messages on lawns?"

"Yes…absolutely…Now can I call Killian please?"

"No."

"PLEEEEEEEEAAAAASEE," I said, sounding a bit whiny but still extremely innocent.

"Fine." She pulled the car into the station house and turned around in her seat. "You get one call. Let me dial it for you." She scrolled through my contacts, frowning. "I don't see his name…"

"Look under Captain Fuckable…um…" ( _oops_ ) "…ahem…I don't know if I actually have his number Emma. Maybe you should use your phone."

She angrily stared at me and shoved my phone in her pocket. At least that solves one problem. Who cares about my stupid contacts-nickname dilemma if my phone is stuffed in the Sheriff's hideous red jacket?

Still, no Angry Birds. No octopus porno. Bad start to the weekend.

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May 24th

 _Weight : 109_

 _Cigarettes : 25+_

 _Men in life : None…I hate everyone…_

 _Friends : Since I hate everyone, that would include my stupid fucking friends…They're all dead to me…least they will be once I kill them…_

 _Drinks : Who the hell knows anymore…_

Dear Diary,

Sexy Killian Jones needs to Stop interfering in my life. Because anything that happens after this point is **All** His Fault. After all, he's the one who stormed into the jail cell and heroically stopped my suicide attempt.

"Just ignore me," I said, shooing him away as he tried to pull me down off the cot I'd been sleeping in. I'd tied some sheets to the bars and was wrapping them around my neck, determined to hang myself. Or course I wasn't exactly sure how to do it and Emma was getting angry because I'd ruined several blankets in the process.

"I'm going to kill myself, that's all. Isn't that what people do in jail cells?"

He shook his handsome head. "No…not really Sweets…nobody has ever committed suicide here before."

"That's because they don't know where you keep the fucking rope…maybe if your useless girlfriend were a little more helpful this kind of thing wouldn't be such a chore."

He eased me away from the cot. "The people who commit suicide in jail cells are the ones who know they'll never leave. You made bail yesterday. You can go home."

"I have no home," I said with large hurt eyes and sweet innocent tears welling up my voice. "All that's there are memories of Rumple…memories of how much I love him…and how many times I could've killed him in his sleep and never been caught." I sniffled at the memory.

"Then don't go home…go wherever you want to. Get away for a while. Travel a bit. Maybe you should take some time and visit a few friends…"

I nodded. "Yeah, that's an idea too…maybe I'll do that first. Visit some friends. Take a few of them with me dammit…If I can't find my happy ending, **no one** **in this town will**! Where's the town's water supply? I'll need a map and some rat poison. Lots of rat poison. Like…buckets of it."

"Not the best idea Sweets." Killian smiled charmingly. "I drink the water too. You don't want to poison _me_ , now do you?"

"Of course not!" I said, horrified. "How would we ever have sex if you're dead? That would just present a whole new level of problems apart from your hideous girlfriend."

"Right…So how about going home and getting some rest?"

" _This_ is my home now." I flung my arms around, despairingly. "This is the only place I belong. Look…I carved my name in the wall and everything."

Killian read what I wrote: " _Rumple die Rumple die…Belle has crabs…Rumple die…Belle has craps…Rumple die…_ You just wrote the same thing over and over again."

"I live here and I'll write whatever the fuck I want to on the walls…Jesus, what is this, China?"

"You need to go home. Clean up a little. Make a little effort to look your best."

"What for?"

"Because you should try to get out and meet someone." He offered with a grin. "Your own prince charming."

"Oh puke. If I have to fuck Charming to get what I want, I'll just go ahead and stick my head in the toilet until I'm dead because that's a better alternative."

"Not Charming…I mean….your _own_ Prince Charming. Someone who's just like you. Someone who's everything you want in a man."

I thought a moment. "Someone handsome…who has a high tolerance for pain during sex."

"Um…sure."

"Like…for example, an extremely fuckable pirate captain who's about to break-up with his grumpy girlfriend?"

"Yes, exactly," he said just before Emma threw a pen at him.

I shook my head. "NO…there's only Rumple. I _can't_ get him out of my head. Just kill me now. Then cremate me and throw my ashes in his stupid beautiful face. That'll teach him. Especially if the ashes are still scalding hot and burn his stupid eyes out of his deformed head." I nodded, satisfied with my revenge scheme. "Yes…we'll do that."

"No Sweets…that's not the best plan. Trust me, you're going to meet someone…who likes you just the way you are."

"Just the way I am…" I echoed, the tantalizing thought hanging in the air between us. It sounded like a dream. "Huh. Like the way Robin love Regina even though she's a sarcastic bitch that hates the world…"

"Yes, exactly."

"And the way you love Emma even though she is The Worst. The absolute worst. "

"Err…right."

"…The worst most hideous person on the planet."

"Um…"

"…The most horrible she-beast who was ever born…"

"Okay, not so much that," he mumbled adorably.

He was such an idiot. Stupid Killian…stupid handsome pirate…hate that I love him. Hate that he actually makes sense occasionally.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

May 26th

 _Weight : 108_

 _Cigarettes : 20+_

 _Men in life : Who knows? The only man I need is alcohol. Alcohol will never break my heart…maybe my liver…but never my heart…_

 _Drinks : Who the hell cares anymore…_

Dear Diary,

My night can best be expressed by the Terrible Texts Killian and I exchanged while I was on my quest to meet my own Prince Charming. Complete Disaster, by the way. Which, _again_ , is Killian's fault. If he'd let me commit suicide like any decent villain, I wouldn't be having these problems, now would I?

-2 a.m. or Thereabouts At A Nameless Bar-

 **Me- What drugs are these btw…they are delicious *image attached**

Killian: Think those are mints.

 **Me-No they're drugs…definitely drugs cuz I feel better after I take them.**

Killian: They're mints. You're drunk. Go home.

 **-Doesn't matter. Going to vomit them up anyway so I don't care what kind of drugs they are. #YOLO**

They're mints.

 **-This guy just walked in. He's wearing leather coat and a fedora…Sploosh! What do you think? * _image attached_**

 **-Did you get that…?**

Yes Sweets. Go get 'em

 **-Nevermind…it was just August. FYI August wears a fedora when he's trolling bars. Baller move.**

 **-There are too many drunk idiots here. Want to leave. Right Now. Think one of them pissed on my chair. And the table and all over the floor…**

Are you outside on patio?

- **Yes**

Is it raining?

- **Yes**.

It's rain...not piss. You're drunk. Go home.

 **-Just saw a guy alone at the bar. On a scale of one to fuckable…how would you rate him? * _image attached_ ***

You sent picture of your own thumb sooooo…maybe a six.

 **-Just a six?**

Yes. Def a six

 **-Drugs are making my boobs feel weird.**

Promise you Sweets, those were mints.

 **-I locked myself in the bathroom. Am never leaving.**

Why Sweets?

 **-Drugs no doubt effecting my mood. And my Boobs. And I looked in the mirror and my first thought was… _Go crawl back into ur shame cave and take ur fuck drugs with u_ …. What kind of way is that for me to talk to me? I've been crying in the bathroom for twenty minutes now because if it.**

U r drunk go home

 **-Million dollar idea…a liquor store with a bar _in_ it.**

 **-This guy just asked me if I wanted to smoke something out of a beer can. I said 'no cuz i'm a fucking lady turd balls.'**

 **-Are you ever talking to someone and a really really graphic gay-orgy image comes to mind…and for a split second, u want to ask them about it to see if they were thinking the same thing?**

 **-My life is like that scene in _The_ _Shining_ …everyone looks like they want to kill me and they're ghosts and we're in a bar**

 **-Don't know what's wrong with me… saw a birthday cake sitting on table and stuck my hand right in the middle of it. Bad start to the weekend.**

 **-Why is it whenever I draw a penis, it always looks angry? What do you think? * _image attached_**

 **-Sometimes I wonder if I control animals or the animals control me**

 **-Who buys sex toys? _Anything_ can be a sex toy if you use it right.**

 **-I just told Cinder-fella that she wouldn't look like such a fucktard if she didn't let woodland creatures dress her in the morning and then she went into the bathroom and cried for like twenty minutes.**

 **-And then I told Ursula, 'Siren spells don't cure ugly.'**

 **-My new spirit animal is August's nose**

 **-Think I'm going to make out with August * _image attached_**

The night goes downhill from there...

0000000000000000000000000000000000

May 29th

 _Weight : 109_

 _Cigarettes : 25+_

 _Men in life : August…for now. Really it's just for the wood-related puns _

_Drinks : Yes please…_

August called me today. Our conversation was brief and fairly pleasant, much like the sex. I thought perhaps he'd found my missing earring, but then he asked me out…on a date.

"Ha ha." I laughed into the receiver. "Ha-ha-ha." I kept laughing. "Sure August. No problem. Pick me up at eight…" Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. I went on laughing and laughing because I'd forgotten how August said things that only _sounded_ like jokes but then went ahead and did them anyway.

Apparently August was serious. He wants to "hang." I'm not sure what that is but it sounds exhausting. I don't think I'll ever really understand why August is so fascinated by me. Or why I allow myself to be fascinated by him…

Physically he's really only about 2/3rds as handsome as Killian and as interesting as a gasoline soaked rag. And our banter is horrendous. Usually ours is a lopsided conversation with him feeding me straight lines and my chewing on them until I foam at the mouth and he walks away muttering.

There's only three reasons for us to go on a disgusting date:

1) August wants to make what's-her-name, Lily, jealous. After all, a snobby Dragon gal who sees her ex consoled by his future-ex is sure to come crawling back (which is all _male_ logic of course and makes no sense to a sober-sane person)

or…

2) So I can offer some semblance of competition to his more handsome, much braver, ridiculously dreamy, sex-on-a-stick counterpart Killian.

or…

3) He's involved in some nefarious plot with my chemically unbalanced roommate Ursula to get me out of the apartment for the weekend.

But I agreed to the date. Not so much to incense Killian or piss off Lily…but because I've learned something, something important: I can't wait around until Emma dies or Belle implodes to get my own happy ending (Actually most of the people in town would have to die because I hate pretty much everyone).

No, I'm going to take a chance on August, even if it's just for the wood-related puns. I will open to new experiences and friendships because I've learned something on my journey to self-actualization. Something valuable:

 **Why should I care if anyone likes me "just the way I am" if I'm going to kill them anyway?**

Put it on my tombstone. I know it's sappy, but it's what I believe. And a happy ending always begins with hope.

The End…for now.


End file.
